


The Desert Tests Us

by Phrenotobe



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: F/F, FE Rarepair Week 2019, Fluff, Sibling Bonding, two women and a baby (the baby is ewan)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22151707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrenotobe/pseuds/Phrenotobe
Summary: Rumours had moved thick and fast through the city square, and Tethys had heard almost every one. Most suspected that the prince had been kidnapped; others that he’d ran from his duties due to the pressure. Ismaire’s misery made Tethys believe she blamed herself.
Relationships: Tethys/Ismaire
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: Fire Emblem Rare Pair Christmas Exchange 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [airlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/airlock/gifts).



> Check back in a few days for a surprise :)

On the day her parents died, Tethys started to dance.  
Ewan was a baby then, and Tethys old enough to marry. It was sudden, sharp and short, a family one day and then no more. Ewan needed food, a place to sleep. So Tethys found a corner of the city square close to a man who played the mandolin, and did what she could. 

Thankful for her quick study, she associated with whomever could teach her. The other girls loaned her scarves, belts and bangles, held Ewan and entertained him while they were on their breaks. Ewan grew old enough to walk, fed and happy. And Tethys danced. 

The corner of the square is something she guards. It’s easy to lose a space you don’t watch for, pushed out by food carts or a new display by an enterprising merchant. She arrives in the cool morning, resting in her corner while the stalls are set up and the mandolin player takes his sweet time. She doesn’t need his music, but the takings are better. 

Tethys is used to people watching her, and in fact it’s the point. But there’s a noblewoman who visits the market every day, waiting in the shade for hours, eased with wine and market pastries. She hides her face from the sun but nothing can mistake the fabric of her clothes, guardians that stand nearby and focus on where she sits. The mandolin player notices Tethys is distracted, and gives her a handsome grin.   
Tethys is watched, but she also keeps watch. 

Six months after the palace alarm, and the queen’s son is still missing. Fifteen is no age at all to be off on a great adventure, missing or dead or living large in Rausten. Fifteen is younger than Tethys was when she lost her parents, and the queen has already dealt with the loss of her husband too. She’d been said to love him, despite his age. It never rains in Jehanna, but it pours. 

She drifts off into an absence of thought as she dances, fixing her eye on a point on the wall across the way as she spins. Money chimes into the cup by her feet. 

The mercenary guild is asking for cleaners, and though it’s good pay she’s wary of committing. Once you’re in that line of work, it’s hard to get back out. Ewan is starting to play with magic, and it’s dangerous without tomes to spark through. But ink and paper and leather and wood, they all cost money. She turns around slowly, nine paces in the dance, and almost startles out of her next gesture. 

The noblewoman is closer than before, gazing directly at her.   
This close, and the black scarf over her face doesn’t hide it well enough. She’s a handsome woman, the same age as Tethys or close to that. The scarf falls over her nose and mouth, but it doesn’t do much to conceal the magnetic red of her lips. 

“I’ve seen you,” she says.  
“I’ve noticed you too, my lady,” Tethys replies cheekily.   
“Oh?” the noblewoman says, “But I wanted to ask. Do you do private dance?”

That could mean anything, but Tethys hopes it is only dance. She doesn’t often take up such proposals, if only because her brother is too young and she can’t defend him too if things go wrong for her. The last time she responded positively to such an inquiry, there were a lot of wandering hands. 

“It depends on my audience,” Tethys says, “And what they want to give.”


	2. Chapter 2

The palace is quiet in the evening, and the sandstone is dark. It’s lit with yellow lamps that reflect light against the flat surfaces, striking unusual shadows and highlights that waver in the breeze from the river. Tethys dips her hands into the black and gold lined water feature in the corridor, designed to draw heat from the sun and keep it cool. She has a blade behind her belt on her hip that glitters, something she’s borrowed to keep safe. 

The guard on the door is big. Tethys sizes him up, worried about his speed. Even now she’s planning how to leave. At a signal from inside, he pulls the door open to let her through. 

The room is plain, but the furniture is finely made, and the lamplight from outside shines through the stained glass window, putting a pattern over the silk hangings of the bed that mark the centre piece. She walks in and comes to a stop. It’s quiet. 

“You may begin,” the noblewoman says. 

Tethys doesn’t need music, but it definitely helps. She starts slowly, using her heartbeat to count the time. It isn’t a dance she’d do in the city square. She wonders if the noblewoman’s husband is behind that curtain, too. A fine mess she’s let herself into. If they start any hanky-panky when she’s there, she’ll leave. 

“You’re very beautiful.”

Tethys laughs, but it’s not for joy.   
“Come a little closer, so I can see what you look like too!” she calls.   
A match lights a lamp inside the curtains of the bed. The occupant is still concealed for moments, but she appears out of one side in a sweep of silk and gold. It’s a figure she’s seen in statues and monuments, at a far-off distance.   
“As you wish,” the queen says mildly. 

The queen is still young and still beautiful, the stress of loss writ on her face. The lamp lights up the point of her chin and the curve of her mouth. It’s not easy to forget.   
“Is it wrong to call you beautiful?” the queen asks.

Tethys paces out her answer, letting the question linger as she moves another step. It must be lonely here, in grand halls all alone.   
“I’m sure it’s no crime to call a girl beautiful, your majesty.” 

“Do you mind if we talk?”   
Tethys gives her a smile, winding her hips slowly so that the bells on her belts chime. She waits as long as she dares before she gives her answer.   
“Most people don’t watch me if they’re looking for conversation,” she says, “My Queen.”   
“A Queen is not most people,” she says, “And in this room, call me Ismaire.” 

Tethys pauses, finds a new movement, hands fluttering through the air like pretty doves. The ornaments of Ismaire’s head glitter in the lamplight as she tilts her head. 

“Ismaire,” Tethys says, the word all by itself.   
“Yes?”  
“I think it’s a shame that your courtiers don’t have much occasion to use your name. I hope it isn’t wrong to call it beautiful.”   
“You’re welcome to use it,” Ismaire says. “And your name?”  
“Tethys,” she replies, “After my mother’s mother.”   
“Do you see her often?”   
“Only in dreams,” Tethys says, “My family is very small.”   
“You and your son?” Ismaire says.  
“My brother,” Tethys says, “I have no husband. Just the two of us, my- my sweet Ismaire.”   
“He’s very young.”   
“I was ready to step out of the nest when he was born,” Tethys says. She watches Ismaire’s face, careful to not be seen that she’s staring. 

“Do you always entertain in the dark?”   
“Would you like more light?” Ismaire asks. She takes a seat at the table, resting her head on her hand. Tethys deliberates on talking about the thin gleam of her smile, but she worries that if she draws attention to it, it’ll vanish.   
“I can light a lamp, if you’d like.” 

“It depends how much you’d like to see of me!” Tethys says.   
“How much would you be willing to let me see?”   
Tethys goes red in the dim light, turning away to conceal it.   
“Sweet Ismaire, you sound like you’re proposing love to me,” she says, “Don’t you know about the effect of a Queen’s words on a maiden’s heart?”  
Tethys laughs, but Ismaire doesn’t join in. It’ll take more than that to ease the heart of a Queen, one still working through her grief.   
“A penny for your thoughts, Ismaire,” Tethys says, prodding her audience to action.   
“I would like to know you better,” Ismaire says. 

“It’ll take more than one dance to learn my secrets,” Tethys says. She gives Ismaire a wink, though she’s not sure the gesture really shows up in a room so dark and quiet. 

“Would you come back tomorrow evening, then?” Ismaire says.   
“I would,” Tethys finds herself saying.   
“Before you go, would you have a meal with me?”   
“Do I have to dance while I do?” Tethys asks. 

Ismaire shakes her head slowly, and draws out two chairs at the table. There’s no food on it yet, but there’s a silver jug and some glasses, the base of each decorated with gold.   
“Please, sit.”   
Tethys hesitates at the table, surprised when the queen of jehanna takes the opportunity to tuck the chair in behind her. She takes her own seat a moment later, after visiting the door.


	3. Chapter 3

There’s a lot of food at Ismaire’s table once it’s all brought in and laid out. Tethys gazes warily at the spread, wondering which of her scarves is the easiest to conceal food in and wash out afterwards. Even the bread buns are glazed with something that shines. Though she’d given Ewan money for a meal before she left, he’d grow stronger with more milk and better meat. 

“Are you not hungry?” ismaire asks, “Or are you waiting for my signal?”   
“It’s my brother,” Ismaire says, “You know, I don’t want him to grow hungry while I’m here.”   
“I’ll have some food prepared for him.”  
“Oh,” Tethys says.

“Does that surprise you?”   
“To tell the truth, sweet Ismaire, I would’ve taken food for him from this table. Even if it meant that I would have less. I do all I can for him. I want him to grow up well.”`  
“I understand.”  
Tethys supposes she would understand. In that respect, she shares something tangible with the queen. She sips some cooled wine and stares at the wall. If Ewan ever ran away, she doesn’t know what she’d do. 

Ismaire gives Tethys a little gesture, calling her mind back to the present.   
“You seem pensive. Is there something here you don’t like?”   
“I must watch my figure, Ismaire,” Tethys says, “My dance is my livelihood.” 

Tethys at last picks up a piece of fruit, carved and peeled.   
“You’re different to what I expected,” she says, to change the subject.   
“I was unaware that the Queen of the White Dunes was held to any standard,” Ismaire says with a straight face. Tethys can’t read into her thoughts, doesn’t know how badly she miss-stepped. It’s frightening - a dancer must know where she puts her feet.

A chill runs up to tickle the short hairs at the back of Tethys’s neck.   
“No, of course not,” she says, “You’re the standard, M- Sweet Ismaire. Jehanna depends on you. Don’t you know?”   
Ismaire hums, at liberty to avoid talking while she’s being addressed. Once her mouth is clear, she casts a glance at the door.   
“The standard?” she presses.  
“Jehanna’s dunes wouldn’t bloom without you.”   
“I see,” Ismaire says, “I would wish they did not take such careful tending.”

Rumours had moved thick and fast through the city square, and Tethys had heard almost every one. Most suspected that the prince had been kidnapped; others that he’d ran from his duties due to the pressure. Ismaire’s misery made Tethys believe she blamed herself. 

“My-” Tethys said, and covered her slip with a bite of a dish, “My Ismaire, may I ask a boon of you?”   
“So soon?” Ismaire asks.   
“I would like to bring my little brother with me tomorrow,” Tethys says, “So I know he’s safe. I promise you, he’s a good boy. He won’t speak a word to you.”  
“Bring him,” Ismaire says, “He’ll be welcome.”  
“Thank you, I’m very grateful.”   
“Don’t let him wear any black or green.”   
“Eh?” Tethys says.  
“If I’m to indulge you, in turn you must indulge me,” Ismaire says. The ghost of a smile appears on her lips again.   
Tethys replies to that smile with one of her own.


	4. Chapter 4

At home, Tethys is quiet. Ewan senses her mood, and shuffles over to sit with her, an old book in his hands. It’s no tome, but she can see where he’s tried to use it like one, the crisp fizz of ozone hanging around it, the fragility of some of the early pages. Any book is a tome, but not all tomes are books.   
“How did it go?” he asks.  
“It was a long day, but a good one,” Tethys replies.   
“Will you be dancing tomorrow?”  
“Yes. And you’re coming with me.”  
Ewan wrinkles his nose. He’s still young enough to need minding, still particular about what’s ordinary and what isn’t. 

“Don’t wanna dance.” he mumbles.   
“A pretty lady wants to meet you. I’m the one who’ll be dancing, Ewan.”   
Tethys reaches over and pulls Ewan into a big hug, ruffling his hair up and kissing his forehead and cheeks as he laughs and yells.   
“You’re so cute! She’ll think you’re cute too, Ewan.”  
“I’m not cute,” he protests, “I’m the man of the house!”   
“You’re my little brother, the best little brother I ever had.” 

Ewan pouts, pushing Tethys away as she giggles, rolling further away. He yelps as he almost drops off the side of the bed and she grabs him by the back of his shirt, dragging him back over to the safety of her arms.   
“Not cute,” he grumbles.   
“You’re tired.”  
“I’m not tired! And I’m not cute!”  
“Well _I’m_ tired,” Tethys says, “Blow out the lamp for me, will you?”   
Ewan sucks in a big breath, blowing hard on the wick to get it to go out.   
“Good boy,” Tethys coos, pulling the blanket over the both of them. Ewan curls around his book, putting his cheek on a cushion.   
“G’night Tethys,” he says.  
“Goodnight, Ewan. Sleep tight.”


	5. Chapter 5

The morning is bright and filled with promise, and Tethys finds herself distracted. She’s promised to be at the castle in the early evening, but the day drags like a cart with a broken wheel. She can’t return the smiles to the mandolin player, and her dance reflects the turmoil in her heart; she dances her sympathy for the grief of a queen. 

The coins that fall at her feet are not greater or lesser than what she usually gets, but she notices that people linger longer, that they talk among themselves. Nobody claps to the beat of the music; the merchants haggle less. Such an atmosphere - Tethys has to cure this pity that she feels. 

Ewan brings her a covered flask of cool water and a basket of food for her midday meal, and they sit in the shade of the wall while she eats.  
“What is she like?” Ewan asks.  
“Mm?” Tethys says.  
“The woman you talked about yesterday.”   
“Ewan, I’m eating my lunch.”  
“She isn’t real, is she?” Ewan says.  
Tethys puts down her bread and gives him a stare.  
“What’s got into you?”  
“I don’t know,” Ewan says, “I thought you wanted to talk about her.”  
“I think it’s better if it’s a surprise,” Tethys says. 

Ewan steals a hunk of bread, dodging out of the way as she harmlessly swats at him.   
“You aren’t going to make me dance?”  
“I promised I wouldn’t.”  
Ewan chews on his bread, enough manners that he doesn’t try to talk with his mouth full. Tethys doesn’t say anything, but she’s proud of him.

“Your dance seemed sad today,” he says.   
“My friend is sad. It made me sad too.”   
“When are we going?”   
“Tonight, at fifth bell. Not too early, and not too late.”   
“Okay.” 

Evening rises up with the moon, and Ewan brings his book with him when he finds Tethys. She’s talking to the mandolin player, slipping him a few coins for his performance from her pay. She appreciates him, even though he’s tried a few times over their friendship to bring the topic over to the idea of courting. Tethys feigns ignorance; she’s got a brother to care for, and it’s best to keep herself to herself while her beauty still shines. 

“Tethys,” Ewan says softly.  
“Sorry,” Tethys says with a smile, “I promised him, so I must be going.”   
“Will I see you tomorrow?” the mandolin player asks.  
“I wouldn’t dream of missing your music,” Tethys says. She takes Ewan’s hand, heading away from home and toward the castle.


	6. Chapter 6

The castle is brighter this time around. The shaded halls have more lamps, and while the black stone absorbs light, the water and gold seams reflect it. Tethys gets Ewan to wash his face and hands before they’re both escorted to the Queen’s door.

The guard seems surprised by Ewan’s presence, something sad in the bulldog droop of his features. He opens the door to let them through, into a room that gleams with flickering light. 

The queen sits at the table, dishes already piled up with food. A centrepiece is kept warm with a raised stand, candles lit underneath it. The room is brighter than before, warm with yellow light from lanterns suspended from gold-coloured chains. 

“Tethys,” the queen says.   
“My sweet Ismaire,” Tethys says, taking her hands, “This is my brother, Ewan.” 

Ewan grips his book nervously.   
“Hello,” he says softly.   
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ewan.”

Ewan shuffles up to stand by Tethys’s hip.  
“Are you the-” he says, “A queen?”  
“I am.” 

Tethys gives her brother a one-armed hug, gently prodding him forward. Ismaire gets him seated at the table, sitting next to him. She starts to serve out a plate while Tethys stretches and warms up, a little piece of everything. Ewan lifts his thumb to bite at his fingernail. 

“Do you like citrus?” ismaire says.  
“I don’t know,” Ewan says.   
“He doesn’t eat it very often,” Tethys says. She extends her leg and folds over to touch it, trying to relax.   
“Would you like some music?” Ismaire asks.   
“I can dance without it, Ismaire,” Tethys says.   
“I remember you can,” Ismaire says.   
Ismaire slides over the plate in front of Ewan. She’s got a tender expression on her face, something she probably doesn’t realize she’s doing. Ewan doesn’t notice; he’s got his attention occupied with his plate. 

Ewan hesitates over the food, not sure what he wants to pick. Ismaire leans over to cut up the meat into strips small enough for him to handle with his fingers, asking him what kind of flavours he likes. Though he was nervous when he came in, the delicious smells help him relax. 

Ismaire leans back in her seat, giving Ismaire a smile over the top of Ewan’s head. Tethys gives her a wink, linking her hands and extending her arms in one last stretch. 

“What kind of dance would you like?” she asks.   
“What are you willing to give?” Ismaire says.


	7. Chapter 7

Ismaire reaches into the dim corner behind the table, retrieving a lap harp and pulling off the heavy velvet cover. She nudges out her seat for some extra room, plucking the strings one by one.  
“Ewan,” she says, “What do you think I should play?”

“Uh,” he says, food halfway to his mouth, “The piper’s dance.”  
It’s an old tune, something Tethys used to hum when Ewan couldn’t sleep. Usually the tune is lively and bright, but as Ismaire plucks the strings it’s a soft, warm noise. 

Tethys meets Ismaire’s eyes, and begins to dance. 

The music is a kind and steady tune, so her dance is slow, bathed in the warm light of the lamps. She turns and she winks and her hands shape in the air, shadows on the walls reflected and split into thirds. 

The piper’s dance, the route from the city to the top of the mountain over the dunes. A trail of children following the piper, who promises to lead them to the stars. The dunes drag their feet down while they follow, and one by one they are lost in the sand until there is only one child left, the one with the quickest feet, dancing at the piper’s heels. 

Tethys didn’t know that the queen could play something so soft and warm. Her skill with a sword is undeniable - she’d only married the man who could beat her in combat. It doesn’t seem like a good basis for a loving marriage. But then, Tethys has never imagined marrying anybody. The only thing that matters now is the sound of the music, Ismaire’s warm smile, the way her attention diverts to care for the boy that Tethys raised almost all on her own. 

As Ismaire plays and Tethys dances, Ewan’s eyelids droop, soothed by the warm and plentiful food, the comfort of his seat; he’s lulled to tiredness by the sound of the harp close by. Ismaire plucks a warm trill and the gold and ceramic decorations around Tethys’s wrists rattle as she moves. Ewan’s head nods once, twice, saved from a face full of curried chicken and vegetables by Ismaire’s hand on his forehead. She plays one-handed as she tips him backward to rest his head against the back of the chair. 

Tethys doesn’t break the flow of her dance, but her smile is wide, preventing laughter as she watches her brother droop against the seat. Ismaire plucks up the harp, a merry little tune that encourages Tethys to pick up her feet. She’s been dancing all day, but when she moves she can see dawn’s gentle warmth rise up into Ismaire’s smile. It’s worth every step of the dance. 

The tune ends with one final flourish, Ismaire putting the harp away to gently lift Ewan out of the seat. His round cheeks rest on Ismaire’s forearms, held under the arms like a cat as Tethys catches his feet. 

Tethys helps to tuck him under the covers at one side of Ismaire’s grand silk-hung bed. She pushes his headband up and off his forehead, stroking his brow and kissing him goodnight. He sighs, lost in dreams. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “It was a hot day, and he’s still so young-”  
Ismaire shakes her head silently, taking Tethys’s hand to lead her away from the bedside. The evening sky is blue-black, the air is warm, and Ismaire’s hand is soft.


End file.
